The Story of a Genius and a Child
by sherlocked-meriadoc
Summary: Sherlock Holmes thought he would never find her. Aranthia, the strange girl who turns up at Sherlock's and John's most recent case, is his daughter. And she knows nothing of how she got there-just her name...and that Sherlock is somehow connected to her.
1. Car Crashes and Murders

**Car Crashes and Murders**

**"Sherlock Holmes is a great man-and maybe someday, if we're very, very lucky, he'll be a good one."**

She never went near them. Only observed them. But that time, when she _did _go near them-that time, it was a coincidence. Sherlock didn't seem to think so, however. In fact, he seemed to know her. "She died in a car crash, yes?"

"Of course, she did. She's in a car, Sher, and it's clearly been in a crash."

Sherlock's blue-green eyes flicked quickly over the car, then back to her. Then back to the car. "You didn't have anything to do with this?" It was a question, not a statement, directed at her. She shook her head; it was almost unnoticeable. "Sherlock!"John reprimanded, exasperated and amused and annoyed all at the same time like he always was with Sherlock. "She's 15!"

"Actually I'm 16..."she corrected in a small voice, wanting to shrink back, wanting to hide where Sherlock or the Detective Inspector could not find her. Sherlock would probably be able to find her, though, he was very good at those sort of things. Funny, really, when she was good at those sort of things as well. "What did you say your name was-or rather, what is it, as you never _did _say so."

"... Aranthia." You couldn't have told it was Aranthia who said it, because her lips barely moved and it was clear to anyone who was observing she was terrified. Or nearly terrified, anyway. Sherlock's gaze flicked back to her again, then over to John. "What about the woman who died?" John queried, impatient to finish the case, as he had woken up very early today (at 1:00, in fact, because of Sherlock getting this case) and got quite cranky when he didn't get enough sleep. "Oh, that. Of course,"was Sherlock's reply, who, for the first time in John's memory, was distracted on a topic that wasn't related to the case. "Yes, of course. Obviously, she wasn't planning to stay for more than a week, considering by the size of her suitcase, and was coming in from Cardiff"_-Not another lady from Cardiff,_ John thought-"as well as being diagnosed with diabetes, a brittle diabetic, in fact. Of course, she was single, considering the absence of a wedding ring or any sort of adornment from a partner, male or... otherwise." The pause between "or" and "otherwise" made John uneasy-was the Cardiff lady lesbian? Clearly, she was not. Or John thought she wasn't. "So for all you know, she could have a girlfriend and you couldn't have noticed because of adornments?"John asked, stifling a yawn.

"She didn't have one because she was asexual,"said a small voice-Aranthia. John had forgotten she was there at all. She was invisible. Or as invisible as a 16 year old girl who was 5 foot 9 could get. But nothing could change the fact that she was scared out of her mind. Scared of what? It couldn't be Sherlock, he wasn't scary, only intimidating at first. John would figure it out later. He was too tired to do anything at all...

* * *

"John." John didn't want to wake up, he never wanted to wake up, he was too tired to do so... "John. Wake up, John." John let out this exasperated groan and tossed a pillow at the speaker-whoever the speaker was. It was probably Sherlock-in fact, it was most likely to be Sherlock, since they _were _flatmates. "_John._" Sherlock was getting tired of this. He needed someone to talk to when John wasn't there to talk to-or even asleep, like he was now. Sherlock sighed and left the flat, wondering where that girl was right now. Aranthia, was it? That _was _her name, wasn't it? It was unusual for Sherlock to forget anything unless he chose to delete it from his Mind Palace. _"She didn't have one because she was asexual..." _How on Earth did she know that? It was the one thing Sherlock couldn't answer. But something Sherlock and John could answer was that Sherlock would outlive God trying to have the last word.


	2. I Know Almost Everything

**I Know Almost Everything**

**"Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother. Or make him worse than ever."**

Sherlock was wondering about that girl, Aranthia. It was obvious there was someone else in the car with the lady from Cardiff, considering the position of the car and the contents in it. However, it would have left said person with no memory of what happened, or what was said and done. Perhaps the said person was Aranthia? It was a possibility, since most of the contents in the car were meant for a female. Maybe, though, Sherlock was wrong-but Sherlock was never wrong. _Stop it,_Sherlock told himself,_stop it; you're causing yourself anxiety._

John, he needed John to help sort everything out, like he always did. Just like he always did. Where _was _John, anyway? Sherlock needed John to help him; not that he always needed John's help, but it was one of those occasions where Sherlock needed more than the information that was inside his head. It hadn't taken him long after the fall to discover it wasn't the same without the kindly voice by his side, pulling him back from the depths of his Mind Palace.

·········¤·········¤·········

Aranthia really, truly, did not know what to do with her life. She didn't know anymore; she was afraid to do anything, and she knew almost nothing. _Almost nothing? You know everything. _Everything-sure she did. _You do, just as Sherlock does; you know __**almost **__everything. __**Almost**__ everything. Almost._

Almost; what a funny word. When people said "almost," what did they mean? They never stayed the same,the human population. Aranthia understood people _**perfectly.**_ But sometimes, she wondered, if they ever understood her; she was odd in some places and human in others, but never human enough for the rest of the world. To herself, she was very human. Human enough to herself only, though, as no one ever bothered to say a simple "hello" to her. Was that a bad thing, Aranthia wondered, or was it a good thing no one ever talked to her? Aranthia never really knew, but she thought about it sometimes, and all it did was leave a blank space in her thoughts (in her Mind Palace, but she didn't call it that). Most of the time, when she retreated to her Mind Palace, she didn't notice anything else, so she recieved a shock when somebody decided to say something to her.

"You're not-"-here the speaker cleared their throat-"you're not-upset or anything, are you? I mean, you _are _okay?" Whoever was speaking sounded nervous(but it was a man, Aranthia could tell. And he was 35, too), like they were unaccustomed with speaking on a whim. Especially to Aranthia. Of course, she was upset and annoyed at this-_idiot _for bothering her in her Mind Palace-why couldn't everyone leave her alone? But the speaker, in this case, was Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
